


i've got soul; i am a soldier

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that being soulmates didn't guarantee happiness, and one time it at least kind of helped it along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first words

**Author's Note:**

> I used six different ways of identifying soul mates. I'm curious to know what other ones I missed or don't know about. I deliberately didn't do the timers, since there is already fabulous fanfiction of timers in this particular relationship. 
> 
> You should let me know which one is your favorite! 
> 
> I'm editing the last couple, but everything is done. So I can promise that I am going to post two every day, so the whole thing will be up by Saturday. Enjoy.

Jemma grows up thinking that she’s going to bump into her soul mate quite literally. She has a roughly written, “Sorry, Beautiful.” that curves across her ribs. 

She has some doubts, about the sort of person who calls strangers beautiful, and has plenty to say against the people who call such things out to her on the street, but it’s nice. It’s nice to know that her soul mate will find her attractive. She’s always thought she is, but she knows that she can be intimidating and awkward. 

She craves the warm acceptance of her soul mate. Dreams about him, lets herself bump into people when she’s walking just in the hopes that they respond with her words.

They never do.

Her parents are soul mates, and so happy it can be a little bit sickening.

She can’t wait.

 

Grant grows up trying not to think about his soul mate. He knows it’s not always roses and hearts. That you can love your soul mate just as much as you hate them – and you can rage and fight and hurt each other, but be unable to leave.

He thinks it’s cruel, that such a thing is possible. That two people that the universe puts together can fit and cause each other, and everyone around them, so much pain.

He does his best not to think about what his words could mean.

It’s a relief, for him, to go to military school. And when he’s approached, after graduation, about continuing on at an academy for some top-secret agency, that’s even better. He wants to be as far away from his family as possible. 

For a short period of time, watching the other cadets worry and daydream and think about their soul mates, he lets himself wonder what it might be like to have a soul mate who isn’t all rough edges, but soft and sweet and loves him. 

Then he looks at his words again, shakes his head, and tries not to think about it.

He becomes a specialist, and is given this weird artificial skin to place over his words for missions. 

His SO is John Garrett. He respects the man, but something about him rubs him the wrong way – it isn’t until years later that he realizes the man reminds him of his older brother. He’s glad when he’s assigned to a different commanding officer, once his training is complete.

His disillusionment with soul words is complete the first time he gets a fake set tattooed on and manages to convince the mark that he is destined for them. He keeps his own words covered up at all times now, not just on missions. It’s not unusual for specialists, being a paranoid bunch, so he never has to deal with questions. And slowly, but surely, he forgets about his other half, somewhere out there. Waiting for him.

 

Jemma is bored enough, one summer when Fitz has been loaned out to NASA, that she gets medically certified. She regrets it pretty quickly when she ends up having to patch up nearly everyone who is unwilling to go to the medical ward. But it’s nice to have company, and she grows oddly fond of the bunch of field agents who swing in, in various states of injury.

She thinks it’s interesting, the tattoos and the words that people have. Her favorite though is talking to people who have already met their other half. So many times the words they have are so out of context from what actually happened that it’s funny. She starts to come up with other theories about why her soul mate would apologize upon meeting her. 

The specialists fascinate her. They sometimes come to her seriously injured, but smiling, and resolutely refusing to go to the actual medical ward. And so often they have fake phrases. She asks about them, and most often she’s told it’s classified, but one agent confesses that it’s a honey pot. That they go in with the mark’s handwriting and trained to illicit a specific first response from them after they say whatever words the mark has on them. 

She’s a little horrified. It makes sense, but it’s also terrible. Those poor people, thinking they’ve met their soul mate only for it to be a trap. And yes, they are bad people who need to be taken in or SHIELD wouldn’t do it, but still. 

She doesn’t think anyone would ever try to trick her, but it’s still something to keep in mind.

Fitz comes back, full of ideas and energy, and they get assigned to work on suppression guns. She’s busy messing around with the prototype when a pale assistant comes sliding into their lab. The girl is so out of breath it takes a moment to understand what she’s saying. “There was an accident! Anyone with any medical training needs to come now!” 

Jemma grabs her bag and rushes after the girl.

It’s horrible. It looks like a bomb exploded, and there are bodies, and parts of bodies, everywhere. She stumbles forward and crouches, checking for a pulse before quickly dealing with injuries. Whoever she is, she got lucky, a broken arm and some scrapes.

The next one, closer to the center of the blast, is worse off and is bleeding out. She manages to get him bandaged up and some volunteers move him out of the rubble before she looks for her next patient.

The third one has a gut wound, and he’s alive and conscious, but it doesn’t look good. There’s a man crouching next to him, trying to stop the bleeding. She recognizes him as the specialist who told her about the honey pots. 

He looks up at her, frantic, and she immediately crouches down by his side. “Simmons, you have to save him alright? This is my buddy, Grant Ward. Please.”

She lets out a breath and nods, she can’t promise anything and she hopes he understands that. Gut wounds are messy and bad and he was clearly close to the blast or whatever it was. He’s already lost a lot of blood. But she’ll do her best to try to save him. His eyelids flutter and she needs him to not give up, so she says, “Don’t die, I need you not to die, you have to fight, okay?” 

His eyes blink open and he smiles up at her, sweet, before reaching forward and brushing his fingers against her cheek, leaving a smear of red behind. “Sorry, Beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.


	2. names

Jemma is born with the name scribbled across her wrist. She doesn’t think about it much when she’s young. After she sees one of her classmates curl over in pain as his name comes in, she’s kind of relieved that she was born with hers, instead of having to deal with the pain, but that’s really all she thinks about it. 

Once she gets older she starts to get curious. But her parents are old fashioned and tell her it’s better not to research your soul mate. “You’ll meet them, the name guarantees that, and wouldn’t you rather hear about them, from them, sweetheart?”

She nods reluctantly, but she trusts her parents. She’ll learn about this Grant Ward at some point anyways. 

Besides, she has other things to learn about, and her parents are right, her soul mate will show up eventually. 

She’s seventeen and she’s just entered the SciTech academy at SHIELD when she next starts to seriously consider her soul mate. Being SHIELD is a big commitment, and she’s not sure what she’ll do if she can’t tell him about it. She doesn’t want to lie to her soul mate. She supposes she can always switch to the commercial field, when she meets him. It probably won’t be soon anyways, and in the meantime she should do what she wants. 

She graduates three years early, and upon her graduation she’s taken aside by Dr. Weaver. “We wait until after graduation, just to make sure, but we know who your soul mate is. He’s on a long-term mission, but his SO is here to talk to you about it. Do you want to talk to him now?” 

She can’t help but laugh and hug the older women, speaking in a rush, “Yes! Yes, please!” 

The man she’s led to meet is scarred and stern looking, but she’s been led to expect that from field agents. He smiles, nicely enough when Dr. Weaver introduces them, and gestures for her to sit down once the older woman has left. 

He grins wider, and there’s something a little frightening about it, but she thinks that might just be because she’s nervous. “You’re the SO of my soul mate? Grant Ward, right? And he has my name?” She can’t help but smile. 

He shakes his head, his grin twisting. “Yeah, Ward has your name on his wrist. But I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, sweet thing, he’s not interested.” 

She can feel her face fall in confusion, and she tilts her head. “What?” 

He runs a hand through his hair and looks at her mournfully. “I really am sorry. I know for girls your age finding your soul mate is supposed to be this delightful experience, but those of us who have been around a little longer know it’s not always so nice. He’s been an agent for a while now – he’s a specialist – and when he found out you were graduating today he sent me to tell you thanks but no thanks.” 

She clenches her hands into fists in her lap to keep them from shaking. Her voice, however, is small and shaky when she says, “I don’t understand.” She does understand though. She just doesn’t want it to be true.

He clicks his tongue. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius.” She has to bite her tongue not to yell at the man who is making all of her pleasant fantasies crash to the ground. He watches her for a moment before shrugging and speaking, “He doesn’t want the complication that a soul mate brings. Especially not when you’re so young. He doesn’t want to give up being a specialist.” 

She leans forward, serious. “I’m young now, yes, that will not last forever, and I would never ask him to give up being a specialist.” 

He laughs, mockingly, before answering, “You may not ask him to, but I’m sure you know that once soul mates cement the bond the pair has trouble being unfaithful, he’s a specialist, sweetheart, sleeping with marks is something he has to be willing and able to do.” 

She pulls back as if he’s hit her and there’s a sour taste in her mouth. “Which is why he was too afraid to come here himself and tell me. He was afraid we’d cement the bond with touch.” 

He nods, and grins, seemingly genuinely pleased. “See, I knew you were smart.”

She grimaces and stands, feeling older and much more jaded then she did just ten minutes prior. “Then I think we’re done here.”

He remains seated and cocks his head. “Is there anything you want me to tell him from you?” 

Letting out a slow even breath she shakes her head and says, “No. I don’t think I want to know anything more about him – or for him to know anything about me. Knowing how much of a burden he thinks I am is enough.” And she walks out the door.

Fitz finds her later, sobbing behind the stacks, and holds her until she stops. 

She starts to wear a Band-Aid over his name, so that when her watch slips down she still can’t see it. She tries to pretend that he doesn’t exist, that she’s one of the few in the population born without a mark, who never got one. That would be better than this. She breaks herself of the habit of running her fingers over his name when she’s thinking. Life goes on. 

She drags Fitz into the field after she runs into Garrett at the Sandbox. 

It’s dangerous and terrifying and amazing, and it’s the longest time she’s managed to avoid thinking about her soul mate. It’s a relief, for a while.

Then SHIELD falls. She nearly dies. And even though once you have a name it’s not possible for you to die before meeting the person, she wonders if her meeting with Garrett counted, as she stares down a gun and refuses to swear her allegiance to HYDRA.

After that she barely has enough time to think about eating, let alone the soul mate that rejected her. 

She very specifically doesn’t check the roster, after they start to rebuild SHIELD, to find out which side he fell on. In fact, she manages to not think about him until she’s standing in a HYDRA lab, undercover, and a tall and handsome dark haired man walks in and offers her his hand. She takes it, friendly but confused, and can’t let go when it feels like an electric current is holding them together.

She gapes, and he smiles, slow and sure. “And you must be Jemma Simmons. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Grant Ward. I’ve been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second verse, same as the first.


	3. kisses

Soul mates aren’t a guarantee. Many people never find theirs; never kiss the right person.

And while one part of Grant profoundly wants to have his soul mate, the more pragmatic part of him doesn’t trust it. Because for that instant when lips first touch, soul mates can see into each other’s minds.

Grant refuses to regret what he’s done to survive. But sometimes he thinks his soul mate will never understand. Will see him covered in blood in his mind and run screaming the other way.

He has no intention of kissing anyone on the Bus, but life rarely goes the way he wants. 

Of course Skye is one of the ‘kissers’, who pretty much kisses everyone upon first meeting them, looking so desperately for their soul mate everywhere. 

It doesn’t matter to Grant that kissers are far more likely to find their soul mates, because it’s still a violation. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth once she’s done. “You ask first, on this bus.” And he turns and stalks away. 

It’s mostly a relief that she isn’t his match. As much as part of him craves his soul mate, it being someone on the Bus might be worse then never meeting him or her. 

He’s confident it’s not Fitz, but he humors him, on the mission in Odessa, and kisses him. And though he knows Fitz is just hoping to find his soul mate before he dies, it’s still flattering that he’s so upset that Grant isn’t the one. 

May kisses him after the berserker staff. It’s entirely a relief that it’s not her, as he’s decently confident, soul mate or not, she’d kill him for what’s in his mind.

Coulson, after they rescue him, kisses every one of them. (It isn’t until later that they learn he’s already found his soul mate and is just thankful. It makes the look on May’s face after Coulson lays one on her even more amusing.) 

Then there’s Simmons.

Kissing Simmons is a mistake. 

She’s so upset about Donnie being put away, and Fitz is too racked with his own guilt to comfort her, so Grant feels obligated to step up. He gives her a hug. She leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek and he turns to say something comforting and their lips touch. It’s not even a proper kiss, not really.

It’s like being in the center of an explosion, but painless – all bright lights and heat. And her. He’s always known she was brilliant, a genius, but her mind – it’s incredible. She is incredible. He reaches out to cup her cheek, delighted and warm in a way he never thought was possible. There is a band around his heart that goes straight to her. 

“Whoa. Did you two just – are you soul mates?” Skye’s voice starts to chase away the daze. And reality crashes back into him. Jemma knows. There is nothing dark about her. He’s gotten quick flashes of her entire life. He’s seen her highest highs and lowest lows; she has to know his. 

For once in his life, he doesn’t know how to proceed. His cover is about to be blown and it’s a struggle to even bring himself to contemplate options to keep it from happening, his mind is so caught up in her. Maybe he can run. Maybe he can take her with him. No. She’d hate him for that, he knows, and that would kill him. 

She continues to look dazed, but she manages to blink slowly and turn to look at Skye, saying, “Yes, we, uh, are. Can we have a few moments, Skye?” 

Skye gives them a thumbs up and an exaggerated wink. “Right, a ‘few moments’. I hope RoboCop can last longer than that! Make sure to turn off the video feed, no one wants to see it!” And then she’s gone. 

Grant forces himself to step away to kill the video feed as Skye had suggested, before being drawn back to where his Jemma is standing still. He reaches out, unsure of his welcome and gently touches her wrist. 

She is chewing on her lower lip, but at his touch she looks up at him. “I got…There were a lot of flashes. It was a little confusing.” She twists her hand so she can hold his. Her voice is soft, confused. “You and…Garrett…Centipede?” 

He selfishly takes her other hand; glad she is still willing to touch him at all. He tries to match her volume, speaking softly, “He…He saved my life.” 

She tightens her grip on his hands and squeezes them tightly. He can only imagine what she saw in his mind that she’s thinking of. He wouldn’t wish his mind on his worst enemy, let alone her. She doesn’t make him wait long, speaking in an angry hiss, like she can’t stand to speak louder. “He made you shoot your dog!” 

He grimaces and pulls her closer to him and she lets him, leaning her head against his chest and letting go of his hands to clench his shirt over his heart. “It’s complicated.” 

“Then explain it to me. Because what I got was that you are knowingly working for the enemy, who is actually in SHIELD, and that you’ve been lying to us this whole time and I can’t – you’re my soul mate, Grant.” Her voice breaks on his name, and that cuts him, but he can’t even defend himself. She’s right.

He runs his hand through her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head. “It’s not ideal.”

She rears back, knocking his teeth together painfully and taking his hand with her since he doesn’t want to pull her hair. “Not ideal?” Her voice raises and cracks on the word. But after a moment of baffled staring she lets him pull her back into his chest as he tries to soothe her. 

He sighs and kisses the top of her head. He’s desperate to convince her, but he knows, deep down, how hopeless it is. She’s seen the truth and she can’t contemplate that kind of darkness, she just doesn’t understand. She never will. “He’s…You saw, what I came from before him.” She gives a slow nod against his chest, her arms coming up to hold his waist. “He saved me. I’d be rotting in prison, right now, if not for him. I might be dead already, if not for him. And I certainly would’ve never gotten lucky enough to meet you, if not for him.” 

He considers, for a long moment, how to proceed. For barely a second he considers lying to her. And he hates himself more than he ever has before for even having the thought. Instead he tries the only thing that might work, though he’s not very hopeful it will. “And he’s dying. SHIELD left him to die, like they wanted to leave me and Fitz in Odessa.” 

She shakes her head, a little, and he runs his hand down her back, “Just let me finish this, Jemma, please. Let me explain. Then you can…” He hesitates. The thought of her turning him in to SHIELD is horrifying, but if that’s what she wants to do he’ll let her. She’s so good. So pure. How could fate have decided he deserves her? “Then you can decide what you want to do with me.” 

She pulls back, eyes wide and alarmed. “Do with you?”

He smiles, sweetly, and leans in and kisses her softly, gently coaxing a slow response. When he pulls back she is flushed high on her cheeks. He brushes his fingers over her blush and smiles, “Let me finish, Jem.” 

She nods struck silent, and he continues to run his fingers lightly over her face, memorizing, as he speaks. “I don’t care about Centipede or H—whatever, I care about Garrett. He’s dying. And whatever, whoever, brought Coulson back, they can save Garrett.” 

Her eyes dart over his face, as he speaks, and he allows all of his concern and fear to show on his face. She licks her lips, pausing, then speaks, “He’s been putting kill switches in people’s brains.” 

He grimaces, that was not what he wants her to remember right now. But he knows where this line of thought is going, and he shakes his head before she can finish, his voice calm and sure. “No, Jemma. I don’t have one. It’s been my choice.” 

Her face falls, and when she reaches forward to draw him into another kiss he goes easily. This one tastes like goodbye. Her eyes are wet with tears she isn’t letting fall when she pulls back. “I love you.” She doesn’t. But he knows it’s important for her to say it, since they may never get the chance again.

He hugs her to him again, tightly, and breathes her in. He can’t believe he hadn’t realized, before, how perfect she is. He kisses the top of her head, “I love you, too.” 

He lets her stay there, crying, for a few long minutes before she steps out of his embrace and dashes her tears away with her arm. “You should go.” Something releases in his chest. She’s too good for him.

He nods, stares at her one last time, standing there, resolute in her beliefs and willing to throw away her own happiness for the lives of others. “Someday, maybe…?” 

Her tears start to fall more rapidly, and she puts her face in her hands, nodding. Her voice is muffled when she agrees. “Someday.” 

He takes a step towards her, shakes his head and jerks himself back and jogs out of the Bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. shared dreams

Jemma has always been deeply curious about the phenomena of soul mates and knows all the statistics. 61% of soul mates are platonic. 8% of the population actually has more than one soul mate. Those with more than one soul mate are 68% more likely to have at least one of them be romantic. Only 16% of soul mates share dreams before they meet. 100% of soul mates share a single dream after they first have physical contact, the soul dream. And only 0.5% share dreams after that.

She and Fitz get mistaken for platonic soul mates often. 

“Oh, and you two must be soul mates!” Says, really, everyone when they first meet her and Fitz.

“No, we’re really not.” Early on Fitz always responded first, but over time he starts to get annoyed with it, so it’s always Jemma responding now.

Sometimes they argue more, sometimes they argue less, but it always ends with whoever nodding knowingly and saying something along the lines of: “Me and my Bob, I didn’t realize, at first either! I’d always had vivid dreams that I remembered, so when there was someone in there I’d met that day, well it just seemed like a normal dream. But then my Bob, he comes to me and he says, ‘Why Annie, I think I dreamed of you last night. Were you knitting a coat for an octopus in your dream?’ And by god I was. I bet it’s like that with you two, you’re clearly a good platonic match.” 

And usually at this point Fitz mouths ‘Octopus coat?’ (or whatever over the top detail the person includes in their reminiscing, and there is always at least one) over the person’s head at Jemma. She tries not to laugh, and just shakes her head and says, “That’s lovely, Mrs. Hellcet, but we’re both very certain we’re not soul mates.” 

It’s true that the first dream isn’t always clear, and if the situation were slightly different Jemma might think that Fitz actually is her soul mate. But Jemma has been having dreams of her soul mate her whole life. And it isn’t Fitz. 

The most frustrating part for her is that she knows, when she’s in the dream, what he looks like, but as soon as she wakes up, he’s gone like smoke. Still, she’s lucky to have them at all. She feels special, to share her dreams with her soul mate. Even though they’re often filled with things she can’t fully remember upon waking.

Early on, when she’s young, they’re often just her holding him and comforting him. 

She’s holding him and running fingers through his hair, it’s short and when she’s asleep she knows it’s dark, though she can never remember that when she wakes up. Her words are also something that will disappear like smoke when she wakes, but in the dream she understands why she says what she does. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ll never hurt you and you’ll never hurt me. Just make it to me, please. We’ll be okay.” 

When she wakes up all she knows is that she needs to protect him, though she doesn’t know from what. 

The first time they kiss in their dreams she’s just graduated from the academy. Platonic soul mates don’t kiss in dreams, and she is over the moon about it. She daydreams about the kiss all day, almost more excited about it than she is about her graduation. She already feels like she has a platonic soul mate in Fitz, and she hasn’t felt platonic towards her dream man in a long time. 

That night in her dream she launches herself at him as soon as he’s there and they’re kissing again. 

The kiss is the tip of the iceberg. He’s her first for, well, everything. At least in her dreams. 

It does make dating awkward, but she knows that dreams are cleaner than real life, and she wants to have experience when she meets him. She knows that practice makes perfect. 

Her dreams seem more real, once she joins a field team. But she thinks that must be the danger – the excitement! And yes, sometimes she can remember dark hair and dark eyes and a familiar smirk, now. 

She spends a day watching Ward speculatively, but who she remembers in her dreams is someone who is sarcastic and biting and, well, just not the Ward she knows. 

She tentatively raises the issue with Fitz. “I think I’ve started to remember some features of my soul mate.”

He doesn’t look up from the electronics he’s working on. “You know you won’t see their face until you meet them. I think there was an article about physical transference though, in the – oh dear, will you hand me the soldering iron?”

She nods, hands him the tool and eventually gets the title of the article out of him. 

She’s not overly impressed with the sample size of the study, but it does have some valid science behind the theories. It says that going too long without finding your soul mate in shared dreamers can cause mental stress and result in the mind creating features. And that those features are often borrowed from people you find attractive in every day life.

And that does seem reasonable. Ward is the only person on the team she’s physically attracted to, it makes sense her mind would take his familiar features for her soul mate. 

Skye, Jemma is not surprised to learn, is obsessed with finding her soul mate. It makes sense that the girl without a family would want to find hers so desperately. 

Jemma and Fitz take turns humoring her. Going along with whatever new fad she finds to locate her soul mate. As time goes on they start to play rock-paper-scissors and loser has to join Skye in her quest of the moment. 

Jemma loses more often than not. She’s not sure how Fitz is cheating, but she’s sure he is.

Today, Skye has a sensor that needs a blood sample. Jemma sighs and pricks her finger, putting it on the small device. 

Skye peers down at the small screen and pokes at the enter key repeatedly. Jemma wants to point out the poor construction of the device, but she knows if she does she’ll just get sad puppy-dog eyes from Skye and it’s not worth the emotional manipulation. 

“Well, what does it say?” Jemma knows she doesn’t sound excited, but Skye seems to not notice as she looks up sharply.

“Simmons, are you sure that Fitz isn’t your soul mate?” They’ve had this conversation before, so Jemma doesn’t even try to keep herself from rolling her eyes. 

“Positive.” Her voice is dry when she reaches out to read the machine. It says her soul mate is within one hundred yards of where she is now, which is the Bus midflight. She shakes her head and decides it’s best to put a stop to this immediately. “I dream share with my soul mate. I promise you, it’s not Fitz.” 

Skye closes her mouth on her objections with a click. Then grins, bright. “Well, this is great. This means I can use you as the gold standard to see what’s a legitimate test!” And before Jemma can object, the other woman is bouncing out of the room. She can hear her saying, “This is brilliant!” as she leaves. 

Jemma lets her head fall to the back of the couch. This is going to be a nightmare.

She’s right, it is. 

But Jemma sighs and sits through it. They discard devices that say that Jemma’s bond is platonic or that say she’s already met her mate or that say he’s physically close to her. There are a lot of devices, and the vast majority gets tossed aside. Skye starts to loose some steam for it all, after a very long month and a half.

By the end of it everyone is teasing her about her dream sharing. Which is probably why the question comes up in truth or date.

Skye manages to talk them all into drinking games when they’re stuck in the Bus for a few days due to Quarantine. Coulson leaves when circle of death turns into never have I ever, and May leaves when it transitions into truth or dare. 

Jemma is well pickled, when she gets a truth to describe her latest shared dream. She squints at Ward, who was clearly put up to asking by Skye, before describing it in excruciating detail. Fitz starts making gagging noises halfway through and covers his ears, humming. Ward looks bemused and Skye seems to be taking notes for some reason Jemma purposefully doesn’t think too much about. 

She stands up, unsteadily, when she’s done, and says, “Now that you’ve all gotten your voyeurism on, figuratively speaking of course, I am going to go dream with my soul mate. So there.” And flounces off. 

Unlike the way the dreams usually go – predominately with clothes being lost early on and never recovered. This time her soul mate spends the whole time holding her close and letting out a litany of, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I don’t deserve you. You’re wonderful. And, and I’m not. I’ll make sure you’re okay though, I swear I will. I’ll keep you safe.”

She shifts, a little drunk in her dream, and tries to look in his face and ask him about it, “What are you—“ And he interrupts her with a kiss. She doesn’t mind. It’s a very good kiss. As is the kiss that follows. And the one after that. Occasionally he breaks to whisper endearments and reassurances into her hair, and she pets his back, worried, through it all.

She remembers all of it, so clearly, more clearly then she’s ever remembered a dream before. She’s worried, and a bit out of sorts, not just because of the hangover, the next day. Is he in trouble? Is he in danger?

He’s in her dreams, normally, the following night. She tries to ask about it, but he kisses her whenever she tries and then she inevitably gets distracted by his mouth. If there didn’t seem to be a change in him, after that, she’d think maybe she imagined the whole thing. 

But there’s urgency in his touch now. Like he’s worried someone will take her away from him. To be quite honest, it’s all kinds of flattering.

And then it’s comforting, when HYDRA is revealed. She’s petrified the night of, that if something has have happened to him – a huge number of people died that day. But he’s there, and when his arms are around her it’s like going home.

He still looks like Ward, which is unsettling, but he doesn’t act like him. She tries to fixate on Agent Triplett or, well, anyone else, but it seems her brain isn’t willing to transfer the image again after it’s been settled on Ward for so long.

She hopes she meets her mate soon, so she doesn’t get faced with HYDRA every night. She starts to close her eyes in her dreams. It’s better when she can’t see that face. Whoever her soul mate is they’re kind and they love her.

It doesn’t really occur to her that she may have been wrong. That maybe she didn’t realize when she had her soul dream like all those interfering people had accused her of.

At least, it doesn’t occur to her until she’s staring at Ward in Vault D as he recites, precisely, the dream she shared with her soul mate the night before.

Her skin goes cold and clammy and she stumbles, starts to deny it. 

He smirks at her, through the force field, still devastatingly handsome and she flees.

Running away doesn’t do much good.

He’s still in her dreams every night. 

Waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta da?


	5. mark

Garrett tattoos Grant’s fake soul mark on three months before he’s supposed to enter the academy. It’s his first and will be his only tattoo – identifying marks not being something a specialist should have. 

But everyone has a soul mark. Which is exactly the problem. SHIELD documents them.

“There. What do you think?” Garrett wipes the blood away with a rag and Grant cranes over his shoulder to see the mark on his shoulder blade. It’s an uneven spiral. 

He shrugs, he doesn’t particularly care what his fake soul mark looks like. Hell, he doesn’t particularly care what his real soul mark looks like. Most people never meet their mate and he suspects he’ll be one of them. He’s never been lucky, and meeting your soul mate is seen as amazing luck across every culture.

Garrett chuckles and wipes at it roughly again before dropping a jar of moisturizer in Grant’s hand. “Well, you’re stuck with it now. Take care of it, and learn to retouch it in case it starts to fade.” 

Grant bites off asking why it had been put in such an awkward place for him to do that, he’s already learned his lesson about questioning orders, and nods instead. “Yes, sir.” 

Having a soul mark is a hassle, as a specialist. They can’t be removed and they stubbornly resist being covered up. There are ways to do it, but they last maybe ten hours before wearing off, and often less. The putty that SHIELD lab techs create works wonders but is terribly itchy.

Grant doesn’t appreciate just what a pain in his ass having to keep his real soul mark and his fake soul mark covered up at all times is going to be until he graduates. Up until then he only has to worry about keeping the real one covered, everyone knows each other’s soul marks, he’s pretty sure it’s meant to bond them and make them feel like they can trust each other.

He wonders how many other cadets have real marks hidden somewhere on their bodies. His abs itch like mad every time he has to put on the stupid putty, but he gets used to it. Kind of likes never having to see his weird blob of a cloud every time he’s shirtless.

In the field he manages to deal with both of them. Insists on covering up his own. It’s not unusual for specialists to be a bit paranoid about their marks. And at least waterproof makeup works to cover up the tattoo, even if he has to use the putty to keep his real mark covered. He’s got it handled; it’s not a problem.

The problem comes in Morocco. 

They’re standing there, wet and dripping and cold, in the Agadir field office for hours before being allowed to go shower and change. And then only because Coulson finally landed and took over the paperwork.

He’s covered in salt water and it’s starting to itch. Simmons rushes into the only bathroom in the tiny Riad they’re directed towards, leaving her clean dry clothes behind, without even asking if he’d like to go first. His cover would’ve been obligated to refuse, so it’s probably good she didn’t offer; he might’ve taken her up on it regardless of what his cover would do. His cover has already forced him to jump out of a plane and he just isn’t in the mood.

He’s glad Simmons isn’t dead. But jumping out a plane then treading water while holding an unconscious scientist isn’t exactly something he thinks of as fun. He didn’t even known the vaccine was going to work – he’d just known that Grant Ward, Agent of SHIELD would jump out of the plane after her, so he had. It would’ve been so much less complicated if he could’ve just taken a bullet for her. And also he wouldn’t be stuck in Morocco in salt stiff clothes.

He’s waiting, awkwardly perched on a very stiff ponj, when Simmons comes out only in a towel. It’s a long towel, respectable. But it shows her collarbone. And that’s, that’s his mark. On her. They share a soul mark. A weird blobby cloud that he’s never felt any fondness towards before this moment.

She smiles awkwardly at him, uncomfortable with his gaze. “Erm, you want to shower or should I change in there?” 

He jerks into motion, grabbing his clothes and retreating into the bathroom.

Simmons is his soul mate. He never thought he could possibly be so lucky.

For a single moment he’s incandescently happy. And then reality comes crashing down.

He can’t tell her. She can’t know. 

The wrong soul mark is on file for him. And Simmons, Simmons has seen his spiral mark, like the rest of the team she thinks that is his soul mark. There is no way to explain his fake mark without either lying or worse, telling her the truth. It’s okay. At least he knows now. He can keep her safe.

He turns the water on and huddles under the spray, clutching his face and breathing. He almost lost his soul mate today. He almost lost his soul mate without even knowing it was her. 

He almost didn’t jump. It’s not the first time he’s been grateful for his cover, but it’s the most grateful he’s ever been.

He didn’t think he cared, but the thought that Simmons is the one who the universe decided is perfect for him, yeah, he cares.

He lets out another shuddering breath before forcing himself to re-center and finish his shower. 

She can’t know.

He quickly finds that he isn’t capable of not treating her a little differently, after that. He thinks that everyone probably puts it down to their bonding, jumping out of the plane together. 

He marvels to himself, about how perfect she is, now that he’s paying attention. And he can make her laugh. She’s even more beautiful than normal, when she laughs.

If anyone notices that he’s spending more time in and around the lab, they don’t comment to him about it. His growing friendship with Fitz and Simmons is fairly solid as far as covers for his need to be close to Jemma go. He’s not concerned. 

He almost tells Fitz, when they’re in Odessa and he’s trying to get the other man to escape because they don’t have an extraction team. But Fitz refuses to leave, and if he’s not carrying a message to Jemma then there is really no point in telling him. 

They make it out, because his beautiful soul mate, and Skye, manage to break into the system and realize they’re in trouble before they actually die.

“Thank you. Both of you.” He forces himself to look equally between Jemma and Skye, even though he wants to focus on how his thanks makes Jemma’s face light up. 

Skye punches him in the shoulder and he winces a little because showing accidental vulnerability is important. The bonus is that Jemma bustles over and shoos Skye away so she can fuss over him. Fitz is sitting next to him, getting the same treatment and whining about it. He doesn’t care. He just likes her hands on him.

He starts to allow himself to think of how he could spin it, to be able to tell her he’s her soul mate. It’s easy enough to prove it’s his real mark, after all, since you can cut a tattoo and the skin won’t grow back with the same design, but a soul mark always comes back. They’ve even been known to reappear on other body parts, when they end up being lost with a limb. He wants her and he wants her to know.

The berserker staff changes all that. 

He doesn’t deserve her. He’s horrible. Filled with rage. He could only bring her pain, bring her down to his level. He imagines her staring at him with horror and fear and he can’t tell her. He’s a coward. He can never tell her. 

He sleeps with May, putty over his real mark making it invisible. And he keeps sleeping with her, because he knows, otherwise, he’ll be weak and will tell Jemma – Simmons. He needs to think of her as Simmons. 

Lorelei sees through him, and she laughs. 

He vomits, once the spell of her voice is gone, once he has a moment to himself. Because of not being in control of himself, because of the after effects of the spell, or maybe because the entire time he’d been with her in the hotel room she’d had him call her Jemma.

Having Simmons’ concerned hands on him after that, as she quietly asks if he’d like a therapist, is physically painful. He’s sure the way he flinches away form her doesn’t help his claim that he doesn’t need a therapist.

He’ll ruin her. 

He tries to stop thinking of her; it’s the best thing to do to keep her safe, especially once SHIELD falls. It’s good that she never knew, and the team will keep her safe.

He panics, when she’s on the plane with Garrett. Garrett knows what his soul mark looks like, he’ll never let Simmons leave if he sees hers. He tries to remember how to make the damn storage unit float.

He doesn’t know he fails until later. 

It’s like a heart attack, knowing how close he came to losing her again because of his own actions. And he’s horribly grateful for Fitz for sacrificing himself for her.

His life isn’t in his control anymore. He’s locked up. And he knows it’s only a matter of time before she finds out. He’s imagined a thousand awful situations for her to discover the truth. But even his imagination couldn’t come up with something this terrible. 

He’s in SHIELD custody. Garrett is dead. And he can’t access anything to cover his soul mark anymore. 

He knows she sees it; they make him strip down and put him in soft harmless scrubs. They’ve made him do it before, change out naked and vulnerable to prove they have the power. But this time she’s there.

Her hand is over her mouth, her eyes are wide, and she’s horrified.

He deserves this.

He’ll never deserve her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last tragedy.


	6. colors

She’s terrified. Her one condolence is that Bobbi made it out with the hard drive of the notes she’s accumulated for Coulson.

It isn’t terribly comforting. 

They’re probably going to brainwash her, and her team is going to have to kill her. She hopes it’s May. Skye would never be able to forgive herself. 

She’s handcuffed to a table in a dingy room. There are two chairs across from her with HYDRA agents in them, and a mirror behind them that she’s positive is two-way. 

They’re not even really asking her questions anymore. They’re just tormenting her and she’s trying not to listen. She does her best to imagine May just punching them repeatedly. It’s oddly helpful and she can feel something relax a little in her chest.

The voices she can ignore, the touching she can’t, and she jerks away as one of them strokes down her cheek while saying something crude. Her skin is crawling. There’s a crackle of static and a voice says, “Jameson, Hedrick, stand down. Ward wants her.” 

The man touching her pulls back. “Fuck, I was really looking forward to this one.” He turns and looks at Jemma contemplatively, and she’s petrified. “Maybe after he’s done…?” 

His question is clearly directed at the other man, who snorts. “You know he never shares. Hell, they’ll probably make her conditioning to go on her knees for him specifically.” She’s not actually sure if she’s more terrified at the casual way they’re now discussing her future with mind control or how she’s about to be raped. 

Well, clearly she just has to kill this Ward person and get away. Easy.

The second man releases her cuffs from the table, but keeps a tight grip on her as he drags her to her feet and cuffs her hands behind her. 

The first man scowls, spitting out, “Lucky bastard.” Her knees feel weak. But she wants them touching her as little as possible, so she tries to channel May and jerks her arm out of the second man’s grip, ignoring his laugher, as they herd her out the door. 

The lead her to a plush sitting room, and she has a moment to hope that here she can find something to escape with. Her hopes are dashed when a tall man emerges from one of the rooms and her jailers hand off the key to her cuffs to him. She sees he’s in a suit and obviously fit, and then she drops her gaze, fighting hyperventilation. 

The reality of what’s going to happen washes through her and her vision starts going black at the edges. This is absolutely a panic attack. She’s never had one before. It’s the sort of novel experience she finds herself ill-equipped to appreciate. It’s also deeply unhelpful in this situation and she cannot imagine it has any evolutionary benefit. 

She’s dimly aware of her jailers trying to engage the tall man in conversation and him being curt, and she’s definitely aware of the sound of the door shutting behind them as they leave her there.

He doesn’t try to touch her, which is oddly more terrifying, and when her vision clears up again she can see that he’s holding a glass of water in front of her. She looks up at him and meets his gaze.

His eyes are brown. 

His hand slips on the glass but he catches it before it falls more than a few inches, water sloshing over the side. 

“Mother fucker.” She breathes out, shocked, that this is how she meets her soul mate. 

 

Grant’s soul mate is tiny. And amazing. She’s standing in front of him, eyes wide in shock. She has these amazing brown eyes that he’s pretty sure he is going to spend as much time as possible looking into. He can’t help but smile at her.

This is his soul mate.

She still looks dazed, which is understandable. She’s not the first woman he’s managed to get away from the ‘interrogation’, dazed is normal. He’s suddenly fiercely glad that he got her away from there sooner rather than later. They usually leave the truly unpleasant stuff to him, but the filth down there does have a habit of hitting the girls around sometimes before he can intervene. 

He’s already planning to kill everyone in the base for the slightly bruised look in her eyes, he’s not sure what he’d do if she was black and blue. 

Romanoff is going to kill him. 

But there’s no way he’s going to run the normal con here. Not with her. The thought of deliberately roughing her up and knocking her out with drugs that’ll convince them he got a little overly excited and killed her just so he can get her to the drop spot where Romanoff can get her is just not going to happen. (And the other option with deliberate roughing up then drugging to keep the brain washing from taking hold so they can continue to work undercover is so far off the table it’s on another fucking continent.) 

She blinks at him, dazed, and her voice is very soft when she asks, “Will you uncuff me, please?” 

He lets out a breath, relieved that she’d been briefed about his existence before she’d come undercover. “Yes, of course.” And because now that he knows she knows, he lets himself touch her just because he can’t help himself. It’s just a light brush down her cheek, but his fingers are still tingling slightly when he uncuffs her.

He scowls when he sees the bruising those too tight cuffs have left on her wrists. He’s going to enjoy killing the people who gave them to her. She pulls her hands in front of her and rubs at them. 

He rubs at his face and realizes he needs to take a minute. He’s angry and he doesn’t want her to think any of it is directed at her. So he walks around her, planning to take a moment to cool down, to splash some water on his face.

Movement out of the corner of his eye has him reacting before it’s really registered. 

His hand is clamped on her wrist, and she’s holding a lamp that she definitely just tried to hit him with. He’s a little distracted by the pale pink he can now see creeping into her cheeks. God she’s gorgeous. But he’s mostly confused. “What are you doing?” 

She tries to jerk her hand from his grasp. It hurts, to keep holding her when she obviously wants to get away from him, but he’s not sure what’s going on right now or why she’s trying to hurt him. He’s positive they didn’t have time to give her any attitude adjustment. 

When she fails to get her one hand away she flails and tries to hit him with the other. He makes a mental note to teach her better self defense as he easily gets a grip on her other hand. “What am I doing! What are you doing!” Her voice is shrill as she tries to jerk away again, this time swinging out to kick at him. 

He easily dodges her kick while wincing at the volume of her voice. His voice is dry and much softer than hers when he answers. “Right now I’m trying to keep my soul mate from attempting to kill me, apparently.” 

She starts to struggle harder and he feels like the worst sort of person when he has to tighten his grip on wrists that are already bruised. She kicks out at him again, and again he avoids it easily. Her voice is still loud and shrill when she responds, “Well your soul mate doesn’t want you!” He jerks like he’s actually been struck. “Nazi!” 

He freezes for a moment, before clearing his throat; he may not have been right about her knowing about the situation. Fuck. “I’m not a Nazi.” 

She finally stops struggling and looks up at him through bedraggled hair, gesturing with her head to the ostentatious HYDRA image on the wall, disbelieving. “What do you think HYDRA is exactly? And don’t even get me started about the whole multiple heads, not multiple arms thing.”

He laughs. God, she’s perfect. He shakes his head, still amused, and lowers his voice, leaning in slightly to make sure she can hear him. “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d been briefed. I’m not HYDRA, I’m undercover.” 

All of the fight goes out of her and he abruptly looses his grip on her wrists, worried about hurting them more. Her voice is flat and she’s staring at him with wide eyes. “But…thing one and thing two – they said you always get the girls – you rape people!”

He grimaces. Yeah, he can see why she put up such a fight. Shit. He’s terrible for not having realized – not having made sure she knew she was safe before everything else. “No, I don’t – Look, if I let you go do you promise to wait to try to hit me again until I’m done explaining?” He probably deserves to be slapped for not telling her immediately, and he’ll accept that from her. 

She hesitates then nods, and after a moment of hesitation where he’s pretty sure she’s going to try to jump out the window, joins him at the table and lets him explain. She’s still suspicious, by the end of it. But when he starts outlining his plan to blow the whole base up and escape, she seems convinced that even if he’s not necessarily whom he says he is, at least he’s not HYDRA. 

It’s a start. 

 

Jemma is not completely surprised at how much joy she takes in mixing the chemicals that her soul mate uses to blow up the base. She is, however, amazed at how pretty fire is, at how many colors it has. 

It’s hard to believe that this could be a long con, but she’s gotten more paranoid recently and so she doesn’t let herself actually believe him until they’re standing in front of the Black Widow. 

And the Black Widow is laughing. “Jesus Ward, I knew you hated that job, but did you really have to make a crater? I could’ve gotten someone else in there you know.” And then she’s winking at Jemma. The Black Widow just winked at her! “Good job on the soul mate though, even if she is too good for you.” 

Her soul mate squeezes her hand slightly and smiles down at her. He’s got soot all down one cheek and his suit is more than a little charred, but he’s still devastatingly attractive. He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. She can feel herself blushing as he turns back to the Widow and says, “Yeah. She is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done!

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. If you see any, please don't hesitate to let me know. And if you have a burning desire to beta, you should let me know that too.
> 
> You can find my writing tumblr [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/), where I perpetually accept prompts. My main tumblr is located[ here](http://safelycapricious.tumblr.com/), otherwise. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think.


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